The Emotions of War
by Justice Snake
Summary: Chapter 7 is on and The End is near...
1. Prologue: Into the Fray

_Author's Note: I dedicate this fic to Aachannoichi and her fic, "Love's Sorrow" The names of the individual Cobras are of her creation and I do not hold any credit to their use._

* * *

_"When he gets to Heaven, to Saint Peter he will tell, 'One more solider reporting, Sir. I've served my time in Hell."_

**The Emotions of War-**

Prologue

**June 6, 1944. 0137 hrs GMT**

**1000 ft. above Normandy, France**

"Wake up, Ma'am." Lilith opened her pale blue eyes and the world slowly came into focus as a cold gust of wind infiltrated the C-47's hollow interior. Standing in front of her was the bulky frame of the British 6th Airborne jumpmaster assigned to her. Lilith was widely known to Allied Command as The Boss, however since the formation of Special Forces Unit Cobra, she had been renamed Joy. Looking up, she met the younger man's gaze. He was young; too young for this war but, like thousands before him, he signed up for service. She acknowledged and smiled at him. The jumpmaster returned Joy's smile and yelled over the C-47's roaring twin engines, "Welcome to France!" Lilith's smile did not melt as she admired the young man's courage. _He is a true patriot, _thought Joy. _Everyone in this bloody war is._

_**BANG! **_This brief moment of peace was shattered as an anti-aircraft shell exploded next to the lone '47. A bright flash illuminated the darkness in and around the Skytrain and jagged pieces of Flak shrapnel ricochet off the plane's feeble skin. Boss arose from her seat and ran over to join the jumpmaster in viewing the magnificent sight. The nearby ground came to life with machine-gun fire as every corner of every French field lit up like a candle to respond to the pending Allied threat. A burst of red tracers tracked and perused the defenseless transport and with a loud **_Whiz_**, passed nearly five inches from Lilith's skull. She smiled as the younger man next to her stammered backwards and nearly fell. "German Veiling 40mm cannons, Sergeant." shouted Joy, "'Could tear this place up like wet paper if we're hit." She let out a slight laugh and turned to face her men. The preparatory Red Light signal came to life next to Lilith's ear and the jumpmaster sprang into action. Raising both arms in front of his chest, palms out he shouted, "Get ready!" The Cobras responded by raising their weary heads and looking at the sergeant.

"Stand up!" said the jumpmaster as raised his arms past his head. The Cobras did just that. With a motion to his hand, the sergeant crooked his finger and motioned above his head,

"Hook up!" Once again the warriors complied and hooked up their karabiners to the overhead rail. The jumpmaster crossed his arms across his chest and spoke above the engines, "Equipment check!" One after the other, the Cobras secured the straps and buckles of the man in front of him and attached the parachute rip-cords the mounted karabiners. A tap on the helm indicated the success of a full search. The sergeant then amplified his voice with his hands and said, "Sound off equipment check!"

"Pain, okay."

"Fear, okay."

"End, okay."

"Fury, okay."

"Sorrow, okay."

"Joy, okay." The red light extinguished

"Good luck Ma'am." said the jump master. The light that was once red now turned green. The sergeant raised his arm and shouted, "Go, go, GO!"

Lilith felt a sudden surge of pain fluctuate throughout her abdominal section. Holding held her swollen nine month old stomach containing her unborn child, she whispered, "Calm now, young one. Wait until I'm on the ground." Boss took a deep breath and shoved herself outside into the darkness that now consumed her.


	2. A Morning of Firsts

**Chapter One: A Morning of Firsts **

"_Men who work together become accomplices. Men who fight together become comrades. However,men who die together remainbrothers." -_ _Justice Snake_

**October 1943  
Lancaster, England  
-1346 hrs GMT**

The Boss looked around with delight at her new team. Every one of them looked sharp in their new, freshly pressed olive-drabbed parade uniforms. For this special occasion, each Cobra proudly wore the Unit's black beret that bore the Cobra Unit insignia of the coiled snake clenching a Kay-Bar knife in its jaws.

Joy could barely contain her smile as the Reviewing Officer strode towards his position in front of her. She was indeed proud of her comrades; every one of them performed extraordinarily well in the past year and finally, the dream of an official Spec Ops unit was about to bare fruit. Through her peripheral vision, Lilith could see the rest of her squad standing perfectly at ease.  
"Squad, attention!" Within a single second the Cobras' hands moved from behind their backs and tightly snapped to the seams of their pants. In the next second, they all raised their right legs in unison, and in the same fashion they snapped back down heel to heel in a single, loud stomp.

* * *

This was the Cobra Unit:  
The concept of sending highly trained individuals deep into enemy lines was not new. However, the Cobra Unit was different. Each member possesses a unique ability that any other human could not do, even with a lifetime of practice. With these unique abilities, the Cobras gain the advantage in any battle situation. Whether the mission is either intelligence gathering or sabotage or even open battle, the Cobras are able to get the job done.  
And done well. 

This was the passive Grant Thomas:  
At 80 years of age, this man is the perhaps the oldest soldier to ever wear a uniform. Thomas serves as the Cobra sharpshooter, and is the greatest living sniper of the 20th century. His unique ability to gain energy through an unexplained photosynthetic process is the key to his excellent health. Grant could lay in wait for his oblivious prey for as long as it takes. It was for this gift of oblivion, Boss gave Thomas the codename: The End.

This was the fearsome Nicanor Salvador:  
The swift and deadly huntsman from South America. Salvador has a reputation for being rendered nearly invisible within any environment and the ability to kill any living thing he so desires. Nicanor also instills within his foes absolute terror, should they gain the misfortune of peering into his red, reptilian-like eyes. Salvador's ability to stalk his prey with such professionalism earned him the codename: The Fear.

This was anguished Greg Larson:

The face of this former bee keeper from England bares the scars and welts of a lifetime's worth of pain. Therefore Larson's visage is always concealed behind a thick balaclava. This giant of a man stands well over 6 feet tall and is built like 3 men. Yet he is able to perform challenging acrobatic flips to add to his unique fighting style. To add to this style are his weapons of choice: an unholy arsenal of large Baltic hornets. With a movement of his hand or a simple thought, these winged Hell-spawn will swarm anything, or anyone, he desires removed. It was for this commitment to a tormenting career that Boss named Larson: The Pain.

This was the furious Andrei Vladimir Mokotoff:

The pure hatred and rage that this solitary man feels towards the Nazis is as furious and as endless as his flamethrower tanks. In the fight for Stalingrad in November of last year, Mokotoff watched helplessly as his comrades burned under the fires of German flambewerfer teams. That is why Andrei's weapon of choice is a custom-made thrower so that he could incinerate the fascist scum from inside their tanks and bunkers. It was for this passion and ferocious fighting that Boss named him: The Fury.

This was woeful Shashenka Trofimoff:

This man has seen much death and despair during this bloody war. He weeps for the young souls that should not have been lost. Death shares a special connection with Trofminoff as he is able to hear the words of the dead and respond. This is what makes Shashenka such a skilled fighter: his ability to speak with and inherit the skills of fallen soldiers, friend or foe, he speaks to them all. It was for this unique ability that Lilith named Trofminoff: The Sorrow.

The Joy needs no explanation.

* * *

General Sir Bernard Law Montgomery, Commander-in-chief of the 21st Army Group in England, made his way towards the odd-looking band of warriors. As casually as he arrived, Monty came to a stop directly in front of The Boss. With a loss of restraint, Lilith gave the general a gracious smile. Quite taken, Monty asked, "How can woman with such beauty go into combat?" Lilith's smile only broadened at the shorter man's compliment, "I am loyal to my country, sir. I…" Lilith remembered her friends standing next to her, "We want to fight."  
"And you will." He reassured her. She smiled once more and gave the general a tight hug. Not proper military protocol, but the general was more than happy to accommodate. 

"Sir?" asked The Joy as she fell back in formation, "Would you care to inspect?"

"Indeed I would." He responded and carried on.

* * *

**October 1943  
Lancaster, England  
-1505 hrs GMT**

Major Zero stood at the large square table, eyes transfixed to the vast array of maps and reconnaissance photos. Just then something caught the corner of his eye. "Good afternoon, Zero." said the soft voice of his former SAS partner. Zero looked up and saw Lilith standing in the doorway with a familiar smile on her face.

"Afternoon, Boss." he responded with his own smile, "please, sit." Zero pointed to a nearby chair. As she sat., Joy asked, "Why have you called me here? Anything wrong?"

"No nothing like that, In fact it's quite the opposite. I have good news for you." Curiosity arose in her pale blue eyes, "What is it?"

Tom's smile widened, "You have just received your orders." Immediate excitement sprang to life inside Lilith voice as she jumped out of her chair and ran over to Zero's side, "Well, tell me!"

"And also, congratulations on your new Unit"

"Thank you. My new family will do there jobs well." she smiled, but the curiosity did not wane, "What are my orders?"

Zero looked down on the giant map of France, "It's called Operation Overlord. Otherwise known as the sea-born invasion of France." Zero pulled out maps and recon photos from a sealed folder labeled, MOST SECRET in bold red letters. "The target landing area is a 15 kilometer stretch of beach on the Normandy coast."

"How are we going to pull that off?" asked a skeptical.

"No need to worry about that." replied Zero, "That's Eisenhower's job." He flashed a reassuring smile upon Joy. "Your job will be much more complicated."

Lilith straightened her face and the Major continued, "Your targets are mobile V2 rocket sites near these three towns: **Saint Gatien des Bois**, **Tourville en Auge**, and **Coudray Rabut**. " Zero pushed aerial photographs of the large, checkered-painted purveyors of death in Joy's direction.

"When were these taken" she asked in all seriousness.

"This morning." responded the Major. "They launch every two days, and after they do, the bastards simply bugger off." Zero let a frown trespass is weary face. "By the time our fighters reach the site they leave, only to return later."

"Why not send repeated patrols? Bombers?" Lilith seemed puzzled.

"We can't do that Boss," Zero's frown thinned, "They launch within the towns and we want to avoid collateral damage. They've also marked every bloody field with at least six AA guns. We can't even get close enough to the towns let alone the bloody rockets. I've lost too many friends to those damned guns. "

Lilith felt the Major's compassion and sympathized with his loss, for she had also loss good friends to the Germans, and she intended to return the sentiments. "This sounds like Navarone." she said.

"Only this time, the whole of Britain and perhaps the war itself is at stake."

* * *

**June 6, 1944**

**Saint Gatien des Bois**

**0140 hrs GMT**

The surge of pain did not cease in her womb. The Boss held her stomach as a cold sweat poured from her face. She painfully rose to her feet and wrestled with her parachute straps. At the pull of a lever, the harness slid free and she was able to move freely once again. Lilith felt for her leg bag that contained her weapons and supplies, only, there was nothing there. _Oh no_. She thought to herself, _My radio was in there…. _Joy continued to search herself. She gripped the shoulder-mounted sheath and sighed with relief at the discovery that her knife was still with her. Boss felt for the occupied holster that still hung to her belt that contained her M1911A1 Colt .45 pistol. Lilith continued to hold her stomach as she followed the empty road towards her objectives.


	3. Help Onto Others

**Chapter Two: Help onto others…**

"_The most exhilarating feeling to ever experience is to be shot at without result."-Sir Winston Churchill_

**Saint Gatien des Bois**

**0153 hrs GMT**

There was no need to decipher the situation. The look of sheer terror in the young girl's face informed Joy of their intentions. There were three of them, three Germans. Three monsters. Lilith observed from the darkened tree-line as they pulled the French girl from her home, gagged and helpless. She looked only around fifteen years old and brown hair was neatly tied back and covered by a dark teal bandana. However, they didn't care. _So this is how they treat their conquered_. Lilith, for the first time in a long time, frowned. _Disgusting_.

The ring leader, Lilith observed, appeared to be the Wehrmacht sergeant of the 716th Static Infantry Division. He was tall, bulky and rugged and bore the standard German military field gray uniform and unteroffizer cap. The other two were slightly taller than the sergeant and were armed with Mauser Kar 98k rifles with mounted bayonets, but wore the same malicious smirks. The large sergeant slung his MP40 sub-machine gun over his shoulder and spoke to his subordinates, "Behalten sie uhr." Both soldiers nodded in acknowledgment and turned their backs to watch the road.

This was her opportunity. Joy casually rose from her position and began to walk towards the deplorable German NCO.

"Bonjour." she said with a false smile on her face. The sergeant looked up in surprise but did not move. The other soldiers turned their attention towards the sudden female voice.

"Qui va là? Zeigen sie sich!" demanded the sergeant as he raised his SMG. Lilith did not stop walking.

"Sie ist dies, wie sie kraft fühlen?" asked The Boss with an accusing tone. Joy pointed to the fear-stricken girl, crying on the ground in front of them. "Du schwein." Whispered Lilith as her smile faded.

Almost at once, Joy broke out into a bold charge. Too quick for any reaction, Joy grabbed the muzzle of the man's machine pistol and pulled him toward herself. Her eyes transfixed to the sergeant's surprised expression, Lilith pushed the bolt on the gun back with her right handand ejected the 9mm round as she pulled out the 32-round magazine from the feeding chamber with her left.

Her movements were fast, yet graceful. Aggressive, yet calm and calculated. Almost as if the world was in slow motion, Boss relinquished her grip on the bolt and moved her left foot behind the sergeant's legs. The slender hand that was formerly on the Mp40 bolt now found its way to the sergeant's neck and with all her strength, lifted the larger man off his feet. Using her extended foot to topple the man backwards, Lilith changed the direction of her pull and violently threw the German down with relative ease. The sergeant's skull came into contact with a rock and he was knocked instantlyunconscious.

Without hesitation, Joy turned to face the other two Germans who were still recovering from the sudden loss of their sergeant. Within the time needed for the other men to process this change of events, Lilith had already rushed towards the first baffled Private. Before he could pull the trigger to his raised rifle, Boss had already charged him and planted an elbow into her opponent's chest and sent him staggering back. In reply to this sudden rush of pain, Private Number One dropped his rifle. Joy seized the weapon before it met the ground and turned it on PN1. Boss raised the butt end and swung it towards PN1's jaw. With a loud **Crack**, the metal butt plate came into contact with PN1's mandible and broke it in two different places. PN1's head swung backwards violently as he let out a shriek of anguish and held what was left of his jaw. But before he could do anything else, Lilith lashed out with her right leg and planted a well-placed kick on the man's chest, sending him back breathless and unconscious.

Before PN1 landed on the ground, Joy looked over her shoulder and turned to face her new target, Private Number Two

Who had a Lüger leveled to her forehead.--

His eyes were alive with fury and surprise. But he kept his pistol level and on target. Lilith could tell that this man had seen combat before. Only a veteran could have eyes like that: sunken, weary and aged with prolonged fighting. Joy's arms were at her side and her fists were clenched. She did not speak nor did she move. She was waiting for him to relax or at least drop his guard for a split second. She waited patiently for his eyes to wonder, but they didn't. These few seconds of watching, waiting and hoping seemed to take hours to pass.

The more she waited, the more she wanted to know about him and she was sure he felt the same.

This was not love. No. Her heart belonged to another and there it will stay. All of a sudden the soldier began to lower his weapon. _Had he given up?_

**_BANG!_**

A fast wind rushed past Joy's ear and PN2 threw his head back in such a violent fashion, it made Lilith gasp. The Private crumpled to the ground in a grotesque manner and a pool of blood began to form around the exit wound coming out the back of his skull. The sight was unbearable and Joy averted her eyes.

A tall, shadowy figure emerged from the tree-line and stepped out into the open where the battle took place. His pale eyes looked down towards the frightened French girl and his intimidating physique made her scream under her gag. Lilith quickly turned around and drew her pistol. Pulling back the hammer, she shouted, "Who's there?"

The figure lowered the smoking barrel of his M1 Carbine and stepped into the moonlight.

"Shashenka!" Shouted Lilith as she dropped her .45 and ran towards her lover's arms. Sorrow openly accepted her embrace and did not let go.

"Is she alright?" asked the tall Russian as he motioned to the French girl. Lilith knelt down in front of the girl and smiled at her. The girl's tear laden eyes relinquished all signs of fear and her breathing slowed. Joy calmly untied the gag and stroked the girl's chin. "Vous êtes d'accord?" asked a concerned Boss. The girl nodded.

"C'est quoi ton nom?" asked Lilith.

"Jacqueline." responded the girl with a slight chill in her voice. Shashenka removed his jacket and put it around the young girl. Lilith brushed some of her own hair our of her eyes and noticed Jacqueline's bandana. "C'est belle, cette bandana là."

Jacqueline smiled and pulled it off of her head and handed it to her savior. Lilith accepted the gift and smiled at her new friend. "Merçi." Joy brushed her hair back and fastened the cloth to her head. "It suits you, Boss." said Sorrow as Joy rose.

Lilith returned the smile and said, "Let's get this girl home and find the others."

* * *

_**Author's Note**_: Well that concludes chapter 2. I hope you enjoyedit. I alsohope thatI described the Boss tomeet everyone's expectations.

TheAllies have won theirfirstkill againts the Facsist Germans in occupied France, but more is yet to come...


	4. A Perception of Fear

**_Author's Note: _**A quick chapter about The Fear. Be forewarned that I have made this one a little darker and a little more violent. If you like it, let me know so I can use this style more often. Nothing much else to report. Thus...I bring you:

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3: A Perception of Fear**

"_The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his."-_Gen. George S. Patton

**Saint Gatien des Bois -East  
-0153 hrs GMT  
**  
The air felt crisp and cool on Fear's face. Nicanor Salvador whipped his fork-like tongue through the air as he dangled helplessly from his parachute threads. During the drop, Salvador's chute got caught on a tree limb and there he stayed for almost ten minutes. During the fall, Salvador also lost his radio and his new crossbow: The _William Tell_.

He growled at his misfortune. _Boss will not be pleased with this… _he thought.

Fear stretched his neck and slowly unhooked his right arm from its socket. With a loud **Crunch**! The joint was separated. Ever so slowly, Fear's disconnected limb slid free of the tangled threads and with his arm hanging uselessly, Nicanor withdrew and popped the joint back in place. Salvador breathed a sigh of relief and pulled his other arm loose from the silk prison.

Fear now hung, half free and upside down about ten feet from the forest floor. Nicanor pulled his entire torso up and reached for his survival knife hidden inside his right boot. Nicanor pulled the blade free and with one swift stroke, he cut the twine.

The sudden drop did not affect the Brazilian and with cat-like reflexes, landed silently on all four limbs.

A shimmer in the grass caught Fear's attention. He went over to the gleam and looked down.

It was the _Tell_! Fear smiled at his find and retrieved his favored weapon. He had every reason to adore this odd looking caster. Using barbed bolts instead of ballistics, the crossbow is an ideal weapon for silent forest stalking and the Tell was suited for just that task.  
And Fear intended to use it.

* * *

He watched them closely. They knew something was there. There had to be. What else would have been dropped with that chute? If only they knew…. 

Fear's smirk widened as his first victim, an armed German rifleman, walked towards him. Salvador sat alone in the middle of the soldier's view. He made sure that he was seen. No other bait would have sufficed. Fear did not move. He just sat, back turned towards his approaching target.

If only he knew….

"Allo?" asked the German in French incase this was a local. "Laisse moi voir tes bras!"

Fear did not move a muscle. He continued to wait.

"Jetzt!" Screamed the frustrated Nazi in his native tongue. The rifleman threw the bolt back on his rifle and loaded a cartridge into the Mauser's chamber. The German closing the bolt and raising his rifle followed the action. "Dine Hände! Auf!" The soldier took one step forward and the ground beneath him gave way. A loud gasp was all that was heard from the unlucky soldier before all was silent.

If only he knew….

Another pair of Germans rushed to the scene to investigate the broken silence. "Halte!" shouted one soldier to Salvador as he raised his Kar98. All of a sudden, Fear dissolved into the blackness as if he was never there.

Both were shocked and both became swollen with terror as they looked into the freshly dug hole towards their impaled comrade.

"Oh, mein Gott." Whispered the first soldier blankly to the other.

Something caught the second soldier's ear and he turned around sharply, "Was war das?"

A quiet **Snap **infiltrated the air. The second German turned to his partner, "Karl?" His eyes widened in terror as he took a step back, "Karl!"

There was Karl: gasping for air and holding the large silver bolt imbedded in his neck. Karl's eyes began to roll to the back of his head as the newly introduced venom in his veins began to take affect. Soldier Number Two didn't know what to do. His eyes wandered and his heart was pounding. Long enough for Fear to approach him. A distorted arm snaked its way across SN2's throat and tightened before he could scream.

Nicanor freed his knife and held it close to SN2's vulnerable neck. "You see your friend there?" Asked Salvador. "That bolt is coated with the venom of the Brazilian wandering Spider. A new concept I've developed. See how the venom robs him of his sight and thickens his blood? Soon his lungs will collapse and he will join your other friend down there in the pit."

A cold sweat began to dampen the soldier's uniform. "Ah," said Nicanor, "I can smell your Fear…"

"Nein…" whimpered the frightened Wehrmacht Grenadier.

"I cannot allow you to live…You've seen my handiwork…"

"Nein." begged the German once more. But it was too late. Fear slowly ran the blade across SN2's throat and terminated the soldier's service to the 'Fatherland.'

Nicanor's blade finished its course and through a cloud of blood Salvador whispered, "FEAR!"

SN2's lifeless body crumpled onto the cold earth and ceased all movement.

Fear slung the _Tell _around his shoulder and rubbed a dry cloth over the stained knife. Salvador took one last gaze at his surroundings before stepping into the forest. Headed west.


	5. Pain and Prejudice

**Chapter 4: Pain and Prejudice**

"_They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason." -_Ernest Hemmingway

**Saint Gatien des Bois -South  
-0155 hrs GMT **

_I found you…._

Gleeful thoughts flooded through Greg Larson's mind as he stumbled out into the open, moon-lit field.

There they were, bundled safely and in perfect hibernation inside their cages.

The massive, tarp-covered container was almost twice as large he and contained, within itself, over a thousand striped Baltic hornets.

He was unarmed. The Pain had lost his Thompson M1 during mid-jump. But that did not matter anymore. He was reunited with his brethren. Not only did that container hold Pain's winged weapons, but also held the massive radio, a box of Mk. 2 hand grenades, extra boxes of .45 caliber ACP rounds, as well as K-Rations and cooking materiel. Several other containers were also dropped, but they were yet to be seen. Not to worry, however. Pain was content and that's all that mattered to him for the moment.

Larson did not take one more step before he heard the distant rumbling of unfriendly company.

_Halftrack! _

Larson dove back into the woods and ground his teeth as he watched the massive, tracked vehicle swivel its two front tired in his direction. _Crap. There's two of them!_

They were standard 18 ton Sdkfz 250/3. The 6-cylinder Maybach engines deafened Larson to all other sounds. Except one: the mixed chatter of the Arian oppressors.

The massive engines grew louder as the vehicles drew nearer. Just then, with a sickening grind, they cut.

"Los, Los!" They swarmed out of the carriers with highly-trained professionalism. One heavy boot following another until there were at least twenty pairs of boots standing around the heavily laden crate. They were not wearing the standard Field Grey of the normal Wehrmacht. Instead they sported a familiar green leaf patterned camouflage. They bore upon their black helmets, an ominous pair of silver runes. This was an armed branch of the Shutzestaffel! Commonly known as SS, Shutzestaffel Shock-troops were perhaps the best trained unit that Nazi Germany had to offer.

"Suchen das gebiet!" shouted one of the more shiner pairs of boots. At that, the rest of the heavily armed boots spread out and began to cover every corner of open space. The officer slowly knelt down and examined the large Allied container.

Larson gritted his teeth until they hurt and mumbled, "Pain…"

The officer undid the straps and folded a corner of the tarp.

"Pain…" mumbled Larson once more, this time catching the ear of a nearby rifleman.

As the officer looked at the open cage, a single- yet very large- Baltic hornet buzzed out into the open. The baffled German Second Lieutenant looked with an uneasy interestat the large insect flying towards him.

"Pain…" Larson stood up and concentrated with all of his strength on his brothers. The anguish was starting to swell within Greg's body. The countless boils and sting scars flared once more. He raised his arms and mumbled, "Pain…"

The soldier in front of him raised his rifle at Pain and shouted, "Halte!" At that, the rest of the soldiers spun and leveled their firearms at him. The officer stood up straight and pulled his Lüger from its resting place. As his sights lined up with Larson, that same hornet buzzed around his face, accompanied by three more around his hand. The lieutenant arched his head back and took a swat at the intruders, only to have them return. Several more arrived to pester the other soldiers until the air was alive with the quiet buzzing of Pain's hornets.

Larson smiled as he watched the Germans struggle with their new accomplices. "Pain…" muttered Larson with increasing loudness. His veins began to swell as his face burnt under the concentration. Larson clenched his fists as he bellowed, "PAIN!"

The crate began to shake as if a it had been struck by a giant hammer. Then, the large tarp flew off as a massive cloud of oversized hornets erupted from the crates and began to cover the area.

Larson began to laugh as he listened to the exchange of screams and cries of agony. The soldiers swung their weapons back and forth in an attempt to ward off their attackers, but to no avail. "Well done, my brothers!" Shouted Greg with satisfied glee. "Send them to Hell and make them experience the same pain of which they have inflicted onto others!"

Some of the Germans simply collapsed from the stings, while others tried to run, but could not escape the angry striped creatures. One man who tried to run suddenly stopped in his tracks and screamed while holding his face. His knees gave way beneath him as his throat began to swell and cut off his air. Larson slowly walked out of his hiding spot and towards the field. A path through the hornet cloud was cleared so he could pass through. Pain freed a grenade from his belt and called the hornets towards it. Without hesitation, a section of the cloud formed around the explosive. With extreme care, the grenade floated off towards the one of the halftracks. When the carriers arrived at their target, Pain waved his hand in liquid, poetic manner and watched as the safety pin fell from the grenade. All at once, the hornets broke off and let the explosive tumble under the halftrack's cab.

_**BOOM! **_

The concussion of the explosion penetrated the vehicle's weak belly armour and penetrated the Halftrack's fuel cells. The entire front end of the armored personnel carrier was reduced to a black smoldering heap.

A single, bloodied, welt-ridden SS officer staggered out of the darkness and raised his MP40 in Larson's direction. He squeezed the trigger and unleashed a single burst of 9mm bullets. As the lethal pieces of lead streaked towards him, Pain's hornets quickly swarmed and covered their master's body in a thick yellow striped shell. The bullets made contact with the shell…and bounced off in a different direction. The officer dropped his weapon and fell to his knees.

"Nien…nien nien nien." Muttered the expressionless officer. The man lowerd his head and began to cough up trace amounts of venom and blood.

Pain stood and thought for the moment. He then lifted up his balaclava and opened his mouth wide, "Dispatch of this _filth_, my Bullet Bees."

The officer's eyes widened as he became the first victim to witness The Pain's secret weapon….


	6. Passionate Fury

**Chapter 5: Passionate Fury**

"It is said that the flames of our fury is all that is needed to extinguish the flames of existence."-Justice Snake

**Saint Gatien des Bois -West  
-0157 hrs GMT **

This had to be another drill. Rommel always wanted to keep his soldiers alert and ready, especially in the morning hours. Even though an alert was issued , the mood was still relatively relaxed.

_Perfect._

There were six German Werhmacht soldiers gathered around the massive Panzer IV tank. The black-clad tank commander sat diligently outside his command hatch and talked passively with his comrades. All was well.

* * *

He weighed almost one hundred pounds more with the giant pair of liquid fuel-filled tanks strapped to his back. He was fortunate to have found his weapon however, Andrei Vladimir Mokotoff did not smile. He stood up straight with his thrower nozzle in his clenched in his fists and began to walk towards his targets. 

He did not see himself as valiant. No, The Fury saw himself as an exterminator, and the Fascist Germans; his pests.

Mokotoff's heavy equipment clanked with every footstep. With each step his rage swelled.

With each step, his lust for battle grew.

With each step, he imagined the satisfying death of each Nazi soldier. And that made Fury smile.

* * *

At first, they did not notice him. The sound of heavy equipment was what drew their attention. They could not make out who or what he was at first: A large silhouette moving up the road. As he drew nearer, they could make out a single man who's eyes were covered by an American-made steel helmet. Contributing to his massive profile was the fact that he was cradling a long tube-like mechanism that was ignited at one end and was being fed through a thick hose to a large pair of tanks slung over the man's back. The lone soldier did not stop his advance. With nervousness and unsteady hands, the soldiers of the German 716th Static Infantry Division raised their rifles. 

The man stopped, as well as the minds of the soldiers. As he looked up, they could see that his face was covered with a thick, black mask. Yet his cold, pale blue eyes could still be seen. The man raised his weapon and squeezed its lever.

**FWOOSH! **

An endless flow of liquid fire streamed out from the open nozzle and arched up into the air. Andrei released his grip on the lever and shouted, "Feel my fury!" Without any reaction, Mokotoff bolted off between a pair of houses to his right. Fury could here the tank commander barking orders as he retreated to the safety of his tank. The six soldiers ran in pursuit of Andrei.

_Predictable bastards. _Thought Mokotoff as he waited. As his first victim came rushing around corner, Fury unleashed his deadly weapon._ Very predictable. _

The others stopped dead in their tracks. Unable to do anything. Mokotoff threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Burn! Burn you Fascist dog!"

Andrei could find no other pleasure other than watching this man being engulfed by his flames. Fury smiled at his work.

* * *

The sight was intolerable. Their comrade lay there, screaming in agony. The sergeant clenched his fist as he looked around for that damned assailant. The others looked away. They could not bare this sight any further. The sergeant leveled his rifle to his fallen comrade's head and relieved him of further anguish. Sergeant pulled his rifle bolt back and discarded the empty shell and loaded a fresh one into the chamber. As he drew the bolt back to it's original position, Sergeant looked over to the remainder of his squad. Choosing a pair of riflemen, he sent them off down the street ahead of them, while taking the other two with him.

* * *

Fury sat and waited. _They split up._ _Good move._ ThoughtAndreias hegripped his fuel gauge. _Still plenty left to go around…

* * *

_

The pair of lone soldiers made their way up the cobblestone street. All was quite, save for the chirping of nearby crickets and distance anti-aircraft fire. They were not alone. The point-man took his gradual steps, rifle raised and finger hard pressed against the trigger. He tried not to breath. Steady breathing is key to hitting your target. It's amazing what you learn after six weeks of basic. But it's not nearly enough. His comrade following suit was as woefully inexperienced as he, and now they are charged with hunting this _Monster_. Too much pressure to handle, but they were soldiers of the Fatherland! They were trained to win against such odds. Besides, Sergeant Kurtz is a veteran of **Barbarossa**,. He knows how to extinguish flames such as this. Point-man smiled.

**Tnk. Tnk, Tnk**A single, cylindrical device rolled out from the darkness with a bright red stripe going across its base. Both men looked down with complete curiosity. Six weeks of training did not prepare them for this: **FWOOSH. **

The phosphorous grenade discharged its contents all over its victims. The combusting substances burnt through their clothing and seeped across their skin. The air became alive with the smell of burning flesh and the sounds of sizzling screams. Fury dropped the pin. And watched from the rooftop.

* * *

Sergeant Kutz led his men down the narrow alleyway. They were sure they had cornered him. Kurtz increased his pace. Just then… 

A dead end. No Russian in sight. Kurtz stood bit his lip, "Verdamnt!" He cursed as he tore off his cap.

**CLOMP! **A heavy pair of combat boots could be heard making contact with the brick floor. The Fury descended from the rooftops behind his targets. Kurtz gazed at the man in awe. How? How can one man do so much? The awe quickly dissipated and Kurtz raised his carbine. "Du schwine!"

Mokotoff raised his thrower, "Вы собака!"

Kurtz fired off his last round and Fury felt a sharp jolt as the bullet hit home above his left knee. The leg abruptly shook as the bullet entered the bone and stopped. The pain was great, but his confidence was unaltered. Andrei smiled and squeezed the lever once more, "FURY!"

The flames blew against the wall with total ferocity and the column rose higher and higher. Mokotoff was to blinded by his rage to hear their screams. All he could hear were the tortured moans coming from his fallen comrades back at the Volga. His vision clouded as he remembered the whistling of German shells and the screaming of Stukas. Oh, how he hated those planes. As sense returned, Fury calmed his nerve and released his solid grip on the lever. Andrei steadied his breathing just in time to hear the whirring and cranking of metal gears. Fury froze as the realization came to him.

**BOOM!** The charred wall crumbled under the Panzer's mighty gun. Fury stood and stared at the massive vehicle which he has witnessed so many times in battle. Andrei tightened his fist and grabbed his thrower nozzle. "Son of a bitch!" Fury screamed as he dashed towards the metallic beast. The Panzer's co-axle gun fired a burst of hot lead n his direction however, the panicked gunner missed. Save for one bullet merely grazing his target's shoulder and the other simple bouncing off the ground and passing between his legs. Without any moment of delay, Andrei jumped up onto the Panzer's tracks and scrambled up onto the tank's turret hatch.

Then, all was silent. The tank commander slowly undid the top hatch and drew his Lüger. The hatch flew open and he just stared, for the commander was looking deep into the barrel of one of Man's most fearsome weapons. Silently, the man shook as the fear overtook him.

Fury simply stared back, with his eyes still covered by the shadow of his helmet. Mokotoff squeezed the level once more and unleashed his Fury.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Sorry about the wait. Paintball and family always come first lol. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, cuz I mostly typed what I thought the Fury would be like from the top of my head._

_For those of you who don't know what I mean by **Barbarossa**, that is the codename for the operation that Hitler started when he opened his invasion of Russia in June of 1940. For further questions or cooments/corrections, just e-mail me._

_**-**Justin_


	7. A Fitting End

I'm SO sry that I didn't submit this earlier. But here itis! I'm also sad to inform you that the Writer of the AWESOME "Love's Sorrow" has beaten me toa crucial event in MGS history and has done it very well. I just hope that you people will enjoy my version as well. Great Job Aachannoichi! Now I present:

* * *

**Chapter 7: A Fitting End**

**Saint Gatien des Bois -North  
-0157 hrs GMT **

"Is he sill alive?"

"Yes, Kurtz found him lying beside the road…asleep!"

"Asleep? In this weather?"

"Curious isn't it? Look at his uniform. Recognize it?

"Definitely American, but I see no outfit badge…"

"Resistance, you suppose?"

"Can't be. He's too old…"

Of the many languages that Grant Thomas could speak, German was among the more fluent. Thomas could not move, his aged hands were loosely bound behind him and he was sitting in an old wooden chair, back to the wall. It was still dark and it had begun to rain hard. His weary blue eyes slowly scanned his surroundings. Thomas had come to the conclusion that he was being hold up inside a basement room of some local manor perhaps. His captors conversed in their native tongue, unaware of their prisoner's consciousness. The End studied the helmeted man. His bulk reminded Grant of how fortunate he was to be a sharpshooter and not having to face these large behemoths alone. The guard's lack of teeth and sunken eyes left something to be desired, therefore, Grant's eyes moved to the second man. The shorter, and perhaps the younger of the two wore a sleek black tunic and matching pants. His eyes were a pale green and his hair a rich gold. By looking at the bars on the man's collar, and the ominous silver skull sewn to the man's peaked cap, Thomas could decipher that this young man was a Shutzestaffel lieutenant. The large scar on the officer's cheek also told Thomas that this man was no virgin to combat. End was told that many of the officers in Normandy were veterans of the Eastern Front, and it showed completely. Thomas then closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the energy from the forest and rain flow into him.

"Ah, look who's awake." Said a stern voice. Grant exhaled and opened his eyes to meet those of the SS officer. The guard, Ugly, was standing tall next to the doorway, sub machine gun at the ready. The officer spoke on, "Sprachen ze Deutsche?"

Grant nodded slowly. The young SS smiled slightly turned around, "Is this your rifle?" asked the officer as he pulled End's rifle from it's drop bag. Grant's eyes widened almost as if the rifle were candy to a child. "Please return my weapon and release me." Demanded a defiant Thomas in the Arian tongue. The officer's smile grew, reading End's longing. "I see. So tell me old man, did you make these customizations yourself?" The officer pulled the Mosin's bolt back and studied the chamber. His look turned into that of question, "Strange, this bore does not take Russian 7.62 millimeter rounds." Officer then withdrew a single bullet from End's confiscated bandoleer and studied the rim, "American .306 rounds? Well now I know where you are from." Officer and Ugly exchanged looks for a moment and then returned to the old man. "Quite and interesting rifle." Officer continued, "The scope is perhaps the only minor alteration." Officer then closed the bolt and set the rifle on the table next to him. End's eyes followed his weapon, the only thing he coveted most in this world. "What is your name?" demanded Officer. Thomas's gaze returned to his captor, "End."  
"End?" Officer looked skeptical. Ugly chuckled in the background. Officer didn't bother to ask for elaboration. He knew that Americans enjoyed using codenames and deception. No matter, Officer continued on, "Tell me, 'End.' What business do you have in France?"  
End did not speak. Officer pressed on, "What is your mission?" Thomas still held his tongue and Officer frowned. "So this is how your special services work? Dropping helpless old men from the sky dressed in…"

"Ghillie." replied Thomas, "It is called Ghillie, the gift from the forest which allows me to disappear underneath her welcoming canopy."

Ugly chuckled once more. End could feel the energy from the nearby forest flowing through his veins, his strength building. With each passing moment, the bonds weakened. "I'll ask you again," said Thomas quietly, "Release me and return my weapon and you may live."

By now Officer and Ugly fully burst out into laughter, overconfident in their position.

Bad choice.

At once and full of energy, End's arms burst free of the rope and he immediately surged forward. Officer was caught completely off guard and did not have time to react as End planted a heavy Jungle Combat boot into his face. Officer went flying back into the waiting bulk of Ugly and both men fell hard to the floor. End wasted no time in lunging for his rifle and backpack and slung both on his shoulders. Ugly raised his head to shout something profane in the old man's direction, but not before End planted the same heavy boot in Ugly's face, rendering him unconscious.

* * *

Two, heavy armed Wehrmacht soldiers flanked the only door out of the cellar and both were roused to the commotion in the interrogation room and both came to investigate. Thinking quickly, Grant reached for one of Ugly's "potato masher" grenades and unscrewed the fuse at the base of the wooden handle. With a puff of smoke, the fuse was lit and End tossed explosive in the guards' direction. Too late to react, the soldiers let out one helpless yelp then… 

The concussion of the blast blew the cellar doors right open and End wasted no time to run through the smoke and out into the cold, welcoming rain. End's stamina only doubled as he sprinted towards the open gate. For an active Division Headquarters, there was not much activity. _Rain can delay anything_, thought End as he continued his dash to quasi-freedom.

There is was, the gate flooded with street lights and occupied by three miserable-looking soldiers on guard duty. _No matter, they are all threats to me. _Thomas reached into his pack and pulled out a flash grenade and relieved it of its pin. With one professional toss, the canister landed in the middle of the group. The grenade erupted with a bright flash and a deafening crescendo of noise, the soldiers were down and disoriented before they even knew what was happening. End did not feel pity, he was free and thirsty for a chance to get even, but for now he would have to rest. Once cleared the gate, Thomas withdrew into the forest and scaled the ridge over looking the manor. There he would wait until his energy returned to him. The rain continued to pour, End kept his aim steady. Ignoring all else around him, Grant became one with the nature around him. Alone, he focused out into the perpetual darkness and gazed down upon his prey.

The manor was alive with activity now: Soldiers swarming every corner, searchlights illuminating every inch of ground within the manor grounds. Nothing was found, and Thomas intended it to remain that way. They had no idea that we was right on top of them, watching, waiting, trigger finger poised.

The search had moved on into the forest, End counted at least a full battalion was searching for him. _How flattering_. Thought Thomas to himself. End scanned the grounds once more, searching, biding his time. He ignored the rain trickling down his scope lens, he simply lay still, letting only his eyes wander. His aim fell onto a pile of fuel-filled drums stacked near a waiting Tiger tank. _Time to wake up_.

A crash of thunder and lightning, End fired. The rifled bullet streaked towards the bottom drum and pierced the aluminum hull. The soldier standing guard next to the Tiger had not noticed the shot and lit up a cigarette, Perfect, thought End. The soldier inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill his lungs, as the embers on his cigarette grew brighter. End centered the man's forehead with his scope's crosshairs. Another crash of thunder and ignited gunpowder and the man collapsed into the puddle of leaking gas with the lit cigarette in his gaping maw. The fag rolled out of its owner's mouth and fell into the puddle, igniting the liquid. End watched as the entire fuel dump grew into one massive flame and engulfed two more soldiers walking by. End smiled at his success and continued to scan. End's smile widened as he saw a shadow emerge from the manor's second floor window. End zoomed in on the figure and read his shoulder flashes, a Colonel? End did not hesitate; the loss of the commanding officer would delay operations in this area and heighten the success of his mission. Thomas lined up his rifle muzzle with the Knight's Cross medal hanging around his target's throat. Slowly, End squeezed the trigger and sent a message through the window. The Cross shattered with the impact and severed the Colonel's spinal chord. Almost as soon as he had arrived to investigate the source of the explosion, the Colonel was down and his aids rushed to their senior officer's side. End pulled back on the Mosin's silver bolt and ejected the empty casing which lay, still smoking in the mud. End checked the feeding ramp and saw that there was no obstruction and loaded a fresh round into the waiting chamber. With a slight click, the bolt was secured and End was ready to hunt once more.

The rain fell heavier than before as Grant realigned his scope and continued his search. Sensing exposure from his previous shots, End quickly got up and ran east to relocate. _A sniper's best chance at survival: Relocation_.  
Grant Thomas, for the past decades, has been testing new tactics on the battlefield, approving, disapproving and modifying methods to ensure survival. It was he who developed the unique "Ghillie" suit in which he can blend into his surrounding foliage. For years, Thomas harnessed his patience and focused his aim. He tightened his grip on the pistol grip of his Nagant, even in this darkness; the feeling of the rifle in his grip was reassuring.

A German soldier rushed out from the cellar, Grant recognized him immediately as Ugly. End's aim followed the rifleman as he ran towards the manor. _Lead your target_. Thomas reminded himself. End lead the scope's crosshairs a few millimeters ahead of Ugly and maintained that distance, End squeezed the trigger. Ugly's chest caught the round and he collapsed on the doorstep of the manor, his MP40 clattering to the ground next to him. End released his casing and loaded a fresh bullet. Last round. End reminded himself. A second soldier emerged from the cellar, Officer. The lieutenant bore his peaked officer's cap. Grant noticed the chrome SS Skull pinned to Officer's hat and took aim. _He has the makings of a true officer, _thought Thomas, _Too bad he's on their side_. End pulled the trigger and spent his last round through Officer's forehead. The young man's expression was that of total shock and awe. Even though he did not feel it, Officer's green eyes still burned with ferocity as he slowly fell backwards down to the cellar floor.

End relinquished the last casing in the magazine feed and closed the bolt. Enough for now. Grant Thomas rose from his position and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Without looking back, End walked eastward to the rendezvous point just north of Saint Gatien des Bois.  
The rain was still falling; the sun was yet to rise.  
The silent winds whispered out one last message to the German lines: _End_….


End file.
